For the Love of Rain
by Blackstairs
Summary: Rainstorms aren't good for James' resolution - or Cordelia's heartaches.


**Hello! Guess who hasn't posted here in over a year? I'm very sorry about that. I hope this fic serves as well as any other apology would, and I hope you like it. I'm in love with these two and I honestly can't wait until TLH - this should make the waiting a little easier. But enough chit-chat!**

**For the Love of Rain**

Even under the persistent thunderstorm that had decided to hit London that very week -and made his task of gazing from his carriage rather difficult-, James had no problem whatsoever identifying the blur of red that time had taught him to relate to his little sister's parabatai. He did have his doubts at first (what would Cordelia be doing in the rain -wearing nothing but a soaked dress that surely didn't keep the cold from sneaking into her body- with her skinny arms tightly wrapped around her torso and nothing in her hands?) but he pushed the thought aside as soon as realization hit him. She must have been freezing, and from what he could see through the thick curtain of rain, no_ thermis_ runes adorned her skin.

And no one had bothered to offer the poor girl a coat? If she hadn't suffered the first blows from hypothermia yet, she soon would.

"Stop the carriage!" James shouted, loud enough for the chauffeur to hear him. With his family attending business in Alicante and Lucie spending the weekend in York with Aunt Cecy, James had surely been taking advantage of his father's position as head of the Institute, which included taking hours-long rides from one side of London to the other. He knew they would reprimand him as soon as they were back, but as of then, he only cared about taking his mind off every little problem disturbing his psyche – no matter how.

And so easily his efforts were proved fruitless – his heart was aching when he jumped from the moving vehicle and ran towards Cordelia. His hands found their way around her shoulders, and he blinked to keep the raindrops from getting into his eyes as he turned her around to face him. She looked so small. Her petite body was trembling, and her crimson locks had loosened out of the pins holding them back. Her usually lush lips had lost their rosy color, and looked awfully thin. Red capillaries surrounded her puffed eyes; most likely gotten after hours of crying. James said nothing as he wrapped his arms around her, hoping some of his body heat would pass on to her.

He could swear he heard Cordelia weeping as he eased her into the carriage. He took off his wet overcoat, revealing a thinner one underneath – of lighter fabric, and dry. This one he took off too, and when she didn't take it from his hands, he moved from the opposite side of the carriage to sit next to her and place the garment on her shoulders.

Cordelia was awfully quiet; something so unusual of her that James had trouble acknowledging that the girl sat beside him was the one who would always make sure he didn't slip further into his depression. He was so worried about her that the words escaped his mouth before he could stop them. "What got into your insane ginger head, Daisy? Why were you out there, freezing to your death? What were you thinking?"

But his tone wasn't as gentle as he intended it to be.

Her damp curls hit his face when her head shot up, and she glared at him in such a way that he felt himself becoming smaller. He opened his mouth to offer a quick apology, but Cordelia shook her head – a sign for him to be quiet. James did as (un)told.

Cordelia sighed, and James could swear he saw her bottom lip tremble ever so slightly as she willed herself to reply. "Mother said-"

He cut her short. "For crying out loud! What did that crazy woman say to you now?" James, Herondale per excellence, said whilst waving his hands in the air. Cordelia would have usually laughed at such a dramatic gesture, but no sign of humor twisted her features as her gaze met his.

It was known in the Shadow World that Colette Carstairs never truly recovered from her second husband's death, and while Alistair Carstairs escaped from his mother's crazy antics by moving away as soon as he was of age – Cordelia was a different story. She was often seen with bruises she blamed on training, but James knew better, thanks to Lucie. It was one of the reasons why she spent so much of her time at the Institute rather than at the Carstairs manor near the West End. The Herondales liked to have her as safe as possible.

So James wasn't truly surprised to hear the way Cordelia started her explanation.

She sighed, catching the thread where she left it. "Mother threw everything out. Her belongings, father's, even the few items Alistair left at home. She told me my dresses and I would be better off floating on the Thames – as it is, after all, cleaner than I am". She kept her eyes on the floor of the carriage and bit her lip for a short moment. James recognized the gesture; something she usually did whenever she tried to keep her voice even, or keep it from breaking.

This time, it did anyway.

"She was furious, so furious… she eventually Marked the door of my bedroom so she could get in. It crumbled to pieces, Jamie. To pieces…" Cordelia shook her head, and as she did a scarlet tress fell from the brooch supposed to keep it place. James' fingers ached to place it behind her ear, and so they did. Had her blood been warm, Cordelia was sure she would have blushed. Instead she rested her back against the cushioned seat of the carriage, turning her head to watch the rain hit the window. James could see her frame, still shivering lightly.

Another sigh went past her lips. "She took everything and threw it out of the windows. My books, Papa's copy of the Codex - I'm sure she would've thrown Cortana if Alistair hadn't taken it with him." Cordelia hid her face between her hands for one brief moment, and her eyes were dry when they fell. "Then she kicked me out, along with the servants. But they came in again and I did not."

James waited for her to continue, but Cordelia didn't open her mouth. He was partly expecting to hear something along the lines of "so I headed toward the Institute", or "I was going to the house of a friend", but as seconds ticked by and not a word escaped her lips, he slowly realized what her silent meant.

_After all, cleaner than I am._

Rage overcame James; he didn't notice his clenched fists until they slammed against the space between them, the blow softened by the cushion. "You were _not_ going to commit suicide. Were you?"

Cordelia took a deep breath, but kept quiet.

"Answer me, Cordelia".

He knew his attitude was more than hypocritical – he had, in fact, tried to kill himself using that very same method. But he couldn't accept the idea of bubbly, cheerful Cordelia attempting to end her life in such a barbaric way. Not a reason why she would.

She had so much still ahead of her.

The ride to the Institute passed in silence, as both had their backs turned to each other. James was offended and Cordelia was trying to ignore his childish attitude. Bridget stifled a scream upon their arrival when she saw James' wet clothes, but at the sight of soaked Cordelia she instantly threw herself to the other redhead. She was already babbling about dry dresses and warm soup when James descended from the carriage, placed his hands on Cordelia's shoulders, and silenced Bridget with a glare. The servant shut her mouth as the teenagers disappeared into the dimly lit hallways of the Institute – towards James Herondale's private chambers.

"Cordelia is allergic to most spices; don't put any in her soup. Also, she would like some Earl Gray. Bring that in about an hour, less if you can manage" James told Bridget before dismissing her. The fireplace on the west wing of his room was already set and, currently, the only source of light. On the couch placed in front of it was Cordelia, whose life seemed to have been taken from her. She looked listless.

Sighing, James went to sit by her. And regretted it on the instant his eyes fell on her body.

He hadn't noticed the moment in which she took off the upper part of her spring dress, leaving her in only a thin, white cotton petticoat that reached her upper forearms, went from shoulder to shoulder to keep her bosom covered, and wasn't as fluffed as petticoats were supposed to be. James could see her slim legs through the fabric, which made him gulp. A stamina rune was quite visible on her left thigh.

And the cleavage – dear Raziel in heaven, when did those two develop? A corset had her breasts crowned in the shape of half moons – by the time he noticed, his throat was arid. In the back of his mind James was aware that she was only in those garments because the others were completely soaked and quite honestly, the white cotton wasn't very dry neither. He could see far too much throu-

"My eyes are up in my face, you know." Cordelia whispered softly, her gaze fixated on the flames. Her hair was of a hundred shades of red – just like James' cheeks, which were burning. He didn't apologize, and simply tore his eyes away from her.

The silence would have become awkward if it wasn't for Cordelia's intervention.

"I was not going to jump off a bridge." She said in the same quiet voice. James turned once again to face her, this time looking at her face rather than any other… part. "In fact, I don't know what I was going to do. Mother said I was more valuable dead – that way my bones would serve for an actual purpose in the Silent City. But lately I've found myself not believing much if it comes from my mother's mouth."

And she said it so evenly; any person would think she was fine. But the Herondale siblings knew her better, and James knelt in front of her when tears started to glisten in her eyes.

"Hey, hey… don't weep. Cordelia. Please." He took her hands in his; it was a matter of seconds before a sob escaped her lips. Neither of them noticed how, or when, but she had started to cry into his shoulder and his arms were wrapped protectively around her small frame. One of his hands moved upwards to stroke her hair, trying to soothe her.

And all of sudden, Cordelia pulled away. She began to laugh bitterly and stifle cries, hiding her face in the crook of her elbow. James, confused as he was, looked at her questioningly and pulled into an embrace once again – but Cordelia wasn't crying anymore. Her breaths came uneven, and he could notice the way she was soon gasping for air.

A rune fixed it moments later – Cordelia was only going through an anxiety fit. Her breathing was back to normalcy after a few minutes, but she could only stand so much. James had moved them, and she found herself curled against his chest, where she snuggled into him as he wrapped his arms around her once more. His head lay on one armrest and his feet on the other, which left Cordelia lying atop him. It took her a while to realize how improper the position was –because, Raziel, it felt so nice-. But as soon as she did, she tried to escape from it.

James didn't allow her to. He cornered her between his body and the seatback, making escape impossible. He raised a questioning brow, and Cordelia blushed madly. Then a grin spread on his face slowly, realization dawning on him. He caressed her cheeks with the back of his fingers, and despite not wanting to, Cordelia closed her eyes.

She was crying again.

James pulled away slightly. He couldn't help but notice the sadness that emanated from her. His hands were still on her cheeks, now wiping the tears away. She had somehow encircled his neck with her arms, and her lips grazed his face with every sob. His cheek, his temple, his forehead and the space between his jawbone and the crook of his neck. She was kissing him as she cried.

And he didn't know why, but he returned the kisses. And each of them tasted like Grace – even though he would never know what that'd be like, but it didn't matter in that moment. Cordelia's gentle hands moved to hold onto his shoulders, and his mouth found hers in a frenzy that wasn't there moments ago. His hands gripped her waist when their lips collided, and he was standing, and she was in his arms, and then he was carrying her to his bed.

It felt awful; passionate and insane. Both of them were aware of how _wrong_ it was, both of them believing it was an unfair advantage taken on the other one; both aware of each other's feelings, but not quite fully.

They didn't even know what themselves truly felt.

_This isn't alright_, her mind scolded her, even when she moaned as James' body pressed hers further into the mattress. His hands were fumbling about her back –searching for the laces that held her petticoat together, she supposed- and she was absolutely overwhelmed by the sensations she felt all at once.

She was utterly overwhelmed by the situation. Yes, she had daydreamed about it more than once, but it always happened under several other circumstances – and always, always after the oh-so-yearned "I love you" his lips would whisper in her ear.

And his lips were on her ear, yes, but nibbling and pulling and making an absolute hot mess out of her – one that squirmed underneath him, and pulled at his hair, and made sure his mouth was on her skin just as hers was on his own.

_Stop it. Make him stop._

She threw her head back and exposed her neck for his lips to trail down on, marveling at how soft, yet rough his fingers felt when his hands moved up and down her ribs over the fabric of the garment he couldn't get her rid off – marveling at the sounds that came from her mouth when he gripped her waist, her hips, her legs. Her nails scraped his scalp lightly, and that must have made something in his head click, because he broke apart from her as if she were a demon. James stumbled backward until his back collided with one of the bedposts.

"By the Angel", he muttered to himself, all mussed hair and bright eyes and fevered cheeks. He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, looking everywhere but at her. "What have I done?"

His father was right as usual. "_You will make a mistake you will regret, and greatly so – but somebody else will regret your mistake more than you ever will_", William had said. And although James had been drunk enough that night to not remember the slightest bit of his father's words, for some reason those had remained with him as if tattooed on his very conscience.

But he had expected that mistake to never happen – or at least, to be intoxicated when it did.

And yet there it was, the devil on his shoulder laughing at him as if the loud thumping of his heart wasn't enough to frighten him forevermore. He couldn't bring himself to accept that he had almost taken one of the people he cared the most about along with him down the path to the eternal fires. His damnation he could and would welcome happily, but not hers.

"I'm sorry", he heard her small voice said, and only then did he gather the will to raise his eyes and look at her. He was sure the rosy circles on each of her cheeks were on his own, too, just as her reddened and swollen lips were probably a copy of his mouth after so many kisses.

But that wasn't what struck him. She looked so frail and yet so fiery; like a beautiful shard of broken glass that would surely cut its way into his heart and kill him. Her creamy shoulders were exposed to him above the gracious curve of her breasts, and it was with a great shock that he noticed bruises on the skin were previously hadn't been any. He was the offender. He had done it.

Her eyes betrayed the fact that it was unbeknownst to her. They were hooded and confused, the way one's would be upon waking up from a long slumber. And James couldn't stand it – couldn't stand that any or, more likely,_ all of it_ was his fault.

"You have nothing to apologize for", he replied, surprised at how husky and low his voice sounded to his own ears. He turned his back on her then, gulping dryly. "I'm going to, uh, make sure your supper is done".

"You shouldn't" Cordelia muttered, and despite how heavy the air felt in the room he heard the teeny amount of humor in her voice when she said that. But she sighed, and the spell broke. "This is your bedroom – it is me who ought to leave, James."

He felt his fingernails piercing his palms. "Stay here, please".

"No, I caused this and-"

"None of this is your fault!" He lashed out at her, turning around and closing the gap between them. Cordelia was perplexed to see him so out of himself, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his eyes alit with a mad glint – and for once, she feared him. "You, no, you do not understand. I should not have kissed you, and I should not have taken you in my arms and… and…" He tore his gaze apart and shook his head violently. "Do not blame yourself for what is my fault".

"I wanted it" she whispered before the words could be stopped, albeit alienated when she thought about what his reaction would be when he actually took into what she had said. "I did, and I'm unbelievably sorry".

James clicked his jaw into place and closed his eyes tightly enough to paint his world on fire. "Have the Angel condemn me to the fiery pits of Hell, but I swear by him, I… Daisy, I…" His Adam's apple bounced. "Do you honestly believe I did not?"

"What?"

He sighed and plopped down on the bed, merely sitting with the help of the bedpost supporting his back. His voice was but a whisper. "You heard me, Daisy".

"But you don't mean it" she insisted in her dismay.

"Apparently I do" he spat. Only moments later did he seem to realize the weight of his words, but Cordelia was already on her feet for her turn to feel irritated. She made the inches between them disappear with the speed only Shadowhunters could showcase; a finger was jabbed to his chest so mightily he lost balance for a brief second.

"Who the hell do you believe you are?" She hissed, infuriated. "You detestable person – you cannot do what you did and say what you said! You cannot lie to people who love you!"

He stopped her by catching her wrist. "I'm not lying! Why do you not believe me?"

"You are playing games with me!"

"I am not" he tried to reason with her, although she was still attempting to break free from his hold whilst insulting every aspect of his person. Fierce as she was, she was making him lose his mind. James muttered a silent prayer to all the deities he knew. "Shut your mouth, Cordelia!"

She did. Her lips didn't quite get to touch, for she was panting as a result of her seemingly never-ending rant. She couldn't look more beautiful to James, with her raggedy breathing and mussed hair and dark, incredibly dark eyes.

He didn't want more than to pull her toward him and onto his lap, cradle her neck in his hands and taste once more the rose of her lips…

So why was he replacing her hair with blond locks and her eyes with ones stormier that the worst hurricane?

"Stop looking at me like that" Cordelia muttered.

_She doesn't deserve to be anybody's second – and certainly not mine_, he silently told himself as he loosened his grip on her wrist. But she didn't pull away from his hold, and when he slouched she used her free hand to softly raise his chin so he'd look at her.

Her eyes were big and tragic, incredibly sad as she bit her bottom lip and later whispered. "We managed to create one big mess, don't you believe?"

Reviews are very welcome!  
Bree.


End file.
